Page 24 of Speed Crush

My grip tightens on the wheel. My breathing gets shallow.

If I so much as shift my hips, I might embarrass myself in ways I won’t recover from.

So, I clench everything and pray the heat passes.

Next to me in a blue go-kart, Noah tosses me a salute.

My heart kicks up as the start lights flash red one by one—then blink out all at once. That’s our signal.

“Go!”

I hit the gas.

The engine roars beneath me, and for the next five minutes, I’m locked in—my kart weaving through the tight, adrenaline-fueled turns of the short track, my eyes are fixed on what’s ahead, and yet every curve, every shift in weight, every vibration of the steering wheel sends another jolt of heat coursing through me.

The race is a blur—fast-paced, every second stretching out like a heartbeat in slow motion. And then, as I cross the finish line more than a few feet behind Noah, the teens erupt in cheers and playful jeers. My heart’s a mess, and I know that behind that easy smile, Noah is already savoring his victory.

As I climb out of the kart, trying to steady my shaking hands, Noah strides over with that confident smirk. The crowd of teens still buzzes in the background, their excitement a constant reminder of our public stage.

“You held it well out there, Songbird,” he teases, voice edged with meaning.

I rip off my own helmet and swing out of the kart, flushed, breathing hard, and trying to act like I didn’t just nearly orgasm on a go-kart seat.

“You okay, Miss Kennedy?” one of the girls calls. “You look a little… red.”

“She’s just mad she lost,” one of the boys jokes.

“Oh no,” someone else says, “youknowwhat this means!”

Noah turns slowly; eyebrow raised. “What does this mean?”

Another kid grins. “Winner gets a prize.”

My heart stops.

“Oh yeah,” someone else says. “Like a kiss! From the loser!”

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” they start chanting like the hormonal chaos gremlins they are.

I hold up my hands. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m not kissing anyone,” I snap.

A beat.

“Or loser has to clean all the helmets!” Some wonderful soul offers me a way out.

“Clean Reid’s helmet? No thanks,” a girl groans. “That thing smells like feet and crushed dreams.”

After the laughs die down, another student chimes in. “Okay, fine. Then loser has to serve snacks tomorrow.”

“Already agreed to that,” Noah says. “But… I seriously prefer the kiss idea better.”

He’s looking right at me.

He’s not laughing. Not teasing. Just intent on me.

“So, did you enjoy the chase?” he asks languidly.

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